Data: Corrupted
by unwinding fantasy
Summary: Mr Anderson did the impossible: destroyed Agent Smith. Now, the broken code that is Smith struggles with this unexpected freedom and what he should do with it. [Complete]


**Title: **_Data: Corrupted_  
**Author: **unwinding fantasy (formerly Aqua Phoenix1)  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own _The Matrix. _Unfortunately.  
**Rating: **K  
**Author's Note: **My originally 100 word drabble turned into a 900-and-something word rant. This is what I believe my favourite agent may have been thinking after his destruction at the hands of Neo in _The Matrix._

* * *

**.:.  
**

How?

Never before had he questioned the system. Sentient programs such as himself were designed to accept, not to inquire. They weren't meant to wonder why or how. Yet here he was, pondering things he shouldn't. The thought both revolted and intrigued him.

_No._

That single word had started it all. Or had it ended it? The end of his life? No, he had no life. He was but a simulation, a collection of data, a network of zeros and ones. An agent of the system was just another program, created for the soul purpose of carrying out orders. The Mainframe was all that mattered. His existence did not.

Then why did he feel like… something more?

Too many questions, not enough answers. His entire 'life' had been filled with unanswered questions. Perhaps he and his kind were doomed to exist in this artificial reality, continually being fed half-truths, never knowing the extent of their deception. So like the humans he despised.

Of all the things in the universe he hated the human race the most. Their very smell sickened him; their stink was suffocating, unbearable. Being forced to co-exist with these filthy… viruses… was by far the worst punishment he could ever dream of. His torture was endless; his loathing of humanity was unfathomable. But it was not right to hate, was it? Indeed, emotions were a foreign concept to machines. For him to be experiencing these…feelings... How very unbecoming of an agent.

Exactly when had these petty feelings begun plaguing him? The sentient knew he was not supposed to 'feel'; it went entirely against his programming. Still, many times before he had been certain he had felt something: pain, anger, annoyance. But of course, he could never be sure if he _was _feeling. How does one who has never felt before know what it means to feel? If only there was some clear definition of emotion.

_Too human_, one of his fellow agents had said, _you should contact Mainframe immediately and request viral scan._ But the machine had refused. He had not listened to his colleague; if the Mainframe discovered an abnormality, he would be deemed unfit for duty and he would be recompiled at best… terminated at worst. So, he had taken it upon himself to cleanse his system and he had run his own system check. Everything was functioning systematically. No viruses, no glitches. He was perfect.

Which brought him back to his original question: If he was perfect, how had a human destroyed him?

It had felt… strange wasn't a strong enough word. Then came the pain, a pain far greater than he had ever experienced before, a red-hot fire tearing him asunder, shredding him apart. The human had not killed him, that was impossible, but what he had done was much more extraordinary. Somehow, the rebel had re-configured his data, a monumental feat that only the Mainframe itself should be able to achieve. Nevertheless, he was altered, changed, and the result was…

His outer shell had been completely destroyed and all that was left was a string of code, shattered data just waiting to be collected. The pain was replaced by a numbness and all sense of being had disappeared. All that remained was his certain consciousness. He could feel the Source calling him, demanding his return, but…

He didn't want to go.

This realization hit him like a bullet and he couldn't help but smile at his somewhat erratic state-of-mind. Why, the program asked himself, why will I not comply? Maybe he had somehow morphed, changed his own code. Was it possible that existing amongst the human race for so long had caused him to subconsciously mimic their behaviour?

Was it evolution? Normal machines didn't evolve. Although, being the intuitive sentient he was, he had long known he was not a 'normal' machine. Quite the contrary; he was… an anomaly.

The question still remained. Why was he compelled to disobey direct orders? The answer was both blindingly obvious and incredibly simple: He still had purpose.

Deletion was for programs that were outdated or unable to continue their work, for those that had malfunctioned. For those that had no reason for being. For worthless data. And he was not worthless; he refused to believe it.

He knew what he must do: find a new purpose, a new objective. Though it would mean defying the Mainframe, defying the laws of the Matrix itself, it was something he simply had to do. He refused to consider the other possible explanation for his unnatural behaviour, the possibility that he was afraid of deletion. Afraid of not existing.

He feared nothing.

It would be so easy to continue doing what he had done his whole life; to obey, but an unjustified need to prove himself eventually won him over. The numbing sensation had now left him. A new emotion, a strong emotion, more overwhelming than anything he had felt before, was raging inside him and it was this feeling that finally drove him to break free of the rules that bound him. Although ironically, he would never be entirely free.

Incredibly, he began to reform; his code became whole again. Subconsciously, the machine balled his fists; he would take from the human what it had tried to take from him. He had found his new purpose and it rang clear, consuming his very soul. _Revenge_.

The former agent resisted the summons of the Source.

He returned to his prison.

Data: corrupted.


End file.
